Friends
The coldness was the first thing that became apparent when they arrived in East Anglia, and Harry steadied Lars to prevent him from falling. Even so, steadying the boy did not stop him from emptying the contents of his stomach, and Harry patted his shoulder comfortingly.
"It will pass in a moment," he assured him.
Lars nodded and wiped his mouth before shivering.
He'd paled considerably in the last few moments, and it wasn't just the induced nausea from apparating that had caused it.
"I forgot how cold it had gotten here," he murmured, shivering uncontrollably.
"It's not a natural chill," Harry sighed.
"It's because of what my father did, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I really wish he didn't involve himself with those women. He sent me here to keep me safe from them. They…"
"They what?" Harry pressed gently.
Lars released a deep breath.
"They wanted him to sacrifice me for a ritual."
"And your father would not."
"No," Lars said sadly. "He says that I remind him of my mother."
"I expect you look like her. You do not resemble Guthrum very much."
"I have her eyes."
Harry chuckled and ruffled the boys' hair.
"I have my mother's eyes too."
"She died?"
"When I was a baby. She died protecting me from a very horrible man."
"Is that why you want to protect people? That's what Arthur said. He said that you're the best at protecting people."
"I wouldn't say the best, but I seem to be good at it."
"Will you protect me from those women? My father says they will not harm me, but he couldn't truly stop them if he wanted to."
Harry nodded.
"They will not harm you, Lars. I will not allow that to happen."
"Thank you."
Harry offered the boy a nod.
"What happens when my father loses the war?"
Harry was taken aback by the question.
"Well, Arthur will be the new king of these lands."
"What will happen to me?"
"You will become one of Arthur's people, and because he is fond of you, I expect he will find a purpose for you beyond the monastery, if you wish. You will come to no harm from anyone, you have my word. Now, you'd best head inside. I imagine you have been missed these past days."
Lars nodded and hurried into the very monastery Harry had taken him from.
He was so unlike his father.
Guthrum was a brash, unsympathetic, and power-mad man bent on ruling the entirety of Britain.
Lars was much gentler, curious about the world around him, and interested in the welfare of others.
Perhaps he had simply learned to be such a way from the monastery, but Harry could see he was much unlike the man that had sired him.
Still, that was not what was occupying Harry's mind, nor was it the undeniable presence of the dead being closer to him than was comfortable.
No, Harry's thoughts were firmly on what had been done to Marcus Gamp, and whom he believed to be responsible.
He had no proof, and yet, every instinct in his body was telling that there was only one person who would go to such lengths to learn more about him.
Myrddin.
The man had tried and failed to kill him already, so it made sense he would dig so deeply to find such a loose connection Harry had to someone from several years prior.
He and Marcus got along well enough, but they'd been little more than acquaintances, sharing classes and occasional meals together.
Bode had told whoever had sought him out as much, and the only person that came to mind to do such a cunning thing was Myrddin Emrys.
Harry would have the truth of the matter before successfully returning the favour of taking Myrddin's life, though it was something he would be stewing on, perhaps for a while yet.
With the dead still roaming Britain, he needed to focus on them, which would only make taking Myrddin's life all the more sweeter when the moment to do so finally arrived.
Flaring his nostrils in distaste at the magic that lingered here, Harry apparated away, and released a deep breath as he arrived a short distance from Hogwarts to spend what time he could with Rowena.
(Break)
Arthur stood at the very front of where his men had gathered, clutching his helm under his arm as he looked upon the forces of Eadwulf.
With Cnut's men and his own, they would be even, and the king nodded to himself before placing the helm on his head.
This moment had been days and even moons in the making.
Thus far, he'd defended Camelot, with considerable help, had defeated Erik, again, with help, but this time, it would be the might of only himself and his men to dispatch Eadwulf and his gathering.
Even from here, Arthur could see that the opposing king was enormous, much taller and larger than him, but Eadwulf could not hope to compete with his heart.
Arthur could smell victory in the air, and though it would soon be mingled with blood, he was determined that it would not be his own.
"This is it," he murmured. "This is what we came for. FOR BRITAIN!" he roared, drawing Excalibur from its sheath and leading the charge across the field.
His men followed and the sounds of clanging armour were lost to the battle cries that rang out across the land.
Soon enough, they would be replaced by clashing steel and the screams of dying men, but Arthur allowed himself the briefest of moments to absorb the passion of those that had chosen to follow him all this way.
These men were loyal to him, so much so that they would not be defeated here, and as Arthur cleaved through the first of Eadwulf's men he reached, he knew they would all bathe in glory when the fighting was done.
With his blade coated in the blood, he fought with all he had, parrying blows with ease, and his sword cutting through thick mail as though it were flesh itself.
God truly was with him on this day, and not Eadwulf, or even Guthrum with his army of dead could stop.
He could feel Excalibur positively thrumming in his hand as he wielded it.
The blade had never felt so light in his hand, nor so deadly, and as he fought off man after man who hurled themselves in his path, each met the same fate.
Arthur would pray for them all when he was done, but in the heat of battle, there would be no mercy.
(Break)
He steadied her as she stood, and Rowena shot him a look of exasperation.
"I'm not dead yet, Harry. I do not need you to carry me," the woman chided lightly.
"I just took your hand. One day you won't be here for me to do that."
Rowena huffed and grasped his tightly.
"See, my grip is strong and my mind even stronger. I'm not quite ready to go yet."
Harry nodded, though he could not ignore her rapidly deteriorating condition.
Her eyes were indeed still full of life, but Rowena was indeed fading. Her hair seemed to be greyer with each passing day, and she found it more difficult to stand of her own volition.
It broke his heart to see her like this, but she continued to insist that she was well.
Perhaps it was something of a lie they preferred to speak aloud, though both knew she was not as well as she claimed. Rowena might well last another year, if they were fortunate, but she could go at any moment.
Harry was not foolish enough to cling on false hope, but he humoured the woman and her damned stubbornness.
"It's time for you to rest."
"It is," Rowena agreed, allowing him to help her to the bed by the window. "Have you been reading my works?"
Harry nodded.
"Every moment I have spare is spent trying to understand that brilliant mind of yours. Maybe one day I will be half as exceptional as you, but I would feel no shame even if I do not reach that lofty height. There is no shame being eclipsed by the very best."
"Oh, you are a flatterer, aren't you?" Rowena giggled. "We are all brilliant in our own ways. We simply must find just how that is. You, for the benefit of yourself and many others, were born with a warrior spirit and the ability to be exactly what you need to. Some would say that is much more useful than I have been."
Harry shook his head.
"An educator, a revolutionary, and a role model," he reeled off from the top of his head. "My name will one day fade into obscurity, but yours will always be known for all you have done."
Rowena offered him a genuine smile as he pulled a thick blanket up to her chin.
"Again, you flatter me, Harry, but I know you speak from the heart, so it means more to me than I can put into words."
"I only speak the truth," Harry said with a sad smile. "I will be back tomorrow."
"I know," Rowena sighed good-naturedly. "I would like you to read my thoughts on progressive charms. You'll find my musings somewhere in the middle of the book."
"Is there anything you'd like me to think about when I have?"
"Nothing in particular, but I would hear your thoughts on them, especially when it comes to protection spells. I believe I was on the cusp of something rather brilliant some years ago. Alas, other things distracted me from my work, but if we could figure it out between us before, well, I would like that."
"Then we will," Harry assured her. "I expect it will be a harsh lesson for how far behind you I am, but I will help in any way I can."
Rowen a rolled her eyes at him.
"You do not give yourself a credit and me too much."
"And both Salazar and Godric would wholeheartedly agree with me," Harry returned with a grin. "Sleep," he urged. "I expect we will have much to discuss tomorrow."
Rowena nodded and Harry placed a kiss on the woman's cheek, his gaze not leaving her until he closed the door behind him upon exiting the room, where he released a deep breath.
It was difficult to see her in such a state, but there was nowhere else he would be.
"How is she?" Godric asked, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
"The same as every day," Harry sighed.
Godric nodded and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"I suppose this is something neither of us can comprehend. None of us know what is like to be in her position. She is scared, Harry, I do not doubt that, but Rowena chooses not to allow her fear to conquer her. The best we can do is be there for her, cater to whatever whims she might have, and comfort her when she needs it."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"I know, it's just not easy to see her like this. I'm not scared of dying, I've been close enough to it more times than I care to count, but I just feel so helpless."
"It is a problem you cannot solve, not even with magic."
"That's not entirely true."
"Not without doing something that should never be done," Godric said firmly. "You have seen for yourself what such things reduce people to."
"I know, and I never would," Harry assured him. "I just wish this wasn't happening."
Godric gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"Come, let us share a drink with Salazar."
Harry nodded.
"I have something to discuss with you both anyway."
"That sounds rather ominous."
"Perhaps a year or two ago, it would be, but not anymore. I don't think there is much that would come as a surprise toe ither of you now."
Godric merely frowned in response and led the way towards Salazar's rooms.
He might not have proof, yet, but Harry did not doubt his own instincts on the matter.
If Myrddin didn't personally kill Gamp, he certainly had a hand in what had happened to the man.
(Break)
He pulled his sword from the guts of a man who'd been wielding an axe, and who'd come close to removing his head with it.
Fortunately, Lancelot had been able to avoid much of the blow, but he'd sustained a fairly deep cut to the side of his neck.
It wasn't fatal, but it would certainly leave quite the scar.
Still, it was nothing compared to those he'd met on the field thus far.
One of the men continued to scream from where Lancelot had removed his hand, but before he could put him out of his misery, he'd been set upon by another trio of Eadwulf's men who felt themselves able to defeat him.
Parrying blow after blow, Lancelot found himself retreating to avoid being overrun, and yet, he held his own well enough for their efforts to become laboured.
Springing into action, he almost split the helm of one of the men before spinning under a wild swing of another.
The second man cried in surprise as Lancelot's sword cut nearly through his calf, though he fell quickly silent as the second strike cleaved trough his neck.
The third roared in fury as he offered a renewed effort to kill him, but his anger only made him clumsy. He managed to swing his axe only twice before stilling as Lancelot's rebuttal saw him skewered like a piece of meat ready for the fire.
He crashed to the ground, and Lancelot retrieved his sword, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw Cnut and the five hundred men he'd taken to break through the sea gate to secure the keep.
Evidently, they had done so, and the large group spilled out of the gates the begin the phase of overwhelming Eadwulf's forces from the rear.
The tide of the battle was truly turning in Arthur's favour, and as Lancelot spotted the king, it was to see him fighting Eadwulf himself.
Although the current king of these lands was much larger, Arthur was fighting well, avoiding everything Eadwulf threw at him, and not allowing his foe to take the upper hand.
Arthur had always been rather gifted with a sword, but today, he seemed to be so much more so, and Excalibur all but glowed in his hand as he fought with all he had, leading his men by example, and getting the better of the exchanges.
It was a proud moment for Lancelot to be a part of.
Arthur was indeed a good man, and even in victory, he would be humble, thank god for the blessing, and do his utmost to make amends with those that had been his enemies today.
Whether or not Eadwulf would accept any mercy remained to be seen, but Lancelot knew that Arthur would treat the man with the dignity and respect he'd earned throughout his years as the ruler here.
(Break)
Both Salazar and Godric seemed to be deeply disturbed by what Harry had told them, and the former shook his head as he snorted humourlessly.
"It's ironic. Myrddin claims to be a paragon of good because he refuses to use what he considers to be dark magic, but his actions contradict what he preaches. He is nothing more than a damned hypocrite."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"He has proven willing to bend his own rules if he is to gain from such actions. I am only sorry that Marcus had to suffer because of it."
Godric grunted unhappily and continued pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.
"I'd ring his damned neck if he was here," he grumbled. "He is a monster hiding behind his infallible demeanour."
"He reminds me a lot of Dumbledore," Harry mused aloud. "I do not believe Albus would murder someone for the sake of information, but he is just as secretive, and just as much a manipulator. He shows only what he wishes you to see and hides his true self beneath a veneer of benevolence. I never noticed it before, but when I think about it now, he has never been as forthcoming with me as he should've. He knew about the Horcruxes, and I have no doubt he knew that Tom unwittingly gave me a fragment of his soul. He must've. He's too brilliant not to have known or at least suspected it. It's quite funny really. There are people who compare him to Myrddin, and they have no idea just how accurate that assessment is."
Both Salazar and Godric frowned disapprovingly at the description of Harry's former Headmaster.
"As much as Myrddin continues to prove himself a most unpleasant man, I think our pressing concern is the goblins attempting to acquire wands made by wizards," the latter sighed.
"Is it such a problem?" Harry asked.
Godric nodded gravely.
"They have been banned by decree of the Wizard's Council from possessing them," he explained. "When the goblins first began to arrive from the continent, there were several skirmishes, and even attempted uprisings. They did not bank, however, on the British reacting to them so swiftly. Each revolt was repelled, and it was out of the good graces of the Wizard's Council tha the goblins were allowed to remain. They were given permission to live within the mountain caves dotted around the country."
"And they have used them to swell their population, and their hatred for humans," Salazar broke in. "They must have been planning this for decades."
"Indeed," Godric murmured. "It will end in considerable bloodshed, and as much of Britain is at war with itself, it is the best opportunity the goblins will have to press for a claim. I must speak with the Wizard's Council to inform them of what we know. They may choose to ignore me, but I must try."
"Who gave the Wizard's Council their authority?" Harry asked curiously.
"They did," Godric answered with a shrug. "It was formed by the richest and most powerful men in the country who grew tired of rivalries amongst themselves. They realised that if they came together, and divided land and wealth, they could all but own the country as a single entity."
"So, there is no election? They get to collectively decide laws based on what they do and don't approve of?"
"Exactly," Godric confirmed. "It is a foolish system, and rather authoritarian, but collectively, they are a powerful entity that cannot be defeated. They took the opportunity to seize power, and none could object to it."
Harry could only shake his head.
The Wizard's Council was evidently what the Ministry of Magic would become, something he did not truly approve of, not having dealt with the likes of Cornelius Fudge.
"The question is, what do we do about the goblins if your warning falls on deaf ears?"
Godric released a deep breath.
"Well, it seems that war is inevitable, and if the Wizard's Council do not act in a timely manner by taking the initiative, it could be much worse than the ones we are already seeing across the country now."
"They won't take the initiative," Harry snorted. "They will not act until it is almost too late. Look at what Guthrum's witches have been allowed to get away with. I do not see anyone else trying to intervene against them."
Salazar and Godric both frowned.
"There is no interest in them doing so," Salazar mused aloud. "Unless they have something to gain or lose, why would they bother?"
"That's just stupid," Harry huffed irritably. "They name themselves the authority of the land, and yet, they do nothing when someone flouts their rules. I can't say I'm surprised."
"You have no idea," Godric chuckled. "The Wizard's Council, like most governments in history, are a bunch of self-serving, greedy, lazy shits, who will not lift a finger to help those below them unless they benefit from it."
Harry nodded his agreement as he stood.
"Well, someone will have to lead the charge against the goblins, won't they?" he asked. "I sure as hell won't be doing it. When Myrddin is dead, I intend on returning home to my wife and starting a family. The Wizard's Council can kiss my arse."
"And what about the rest of Britain?" Godric asked amusedly.
Harry frowned at the question.
"Don't do that," he groaned. "Don't insinuate what you are."
Godric chuckled and held up his hands placatingly.
"I am insinuating nothing, Harry, but we both know you. You are not the kind of man to sit back and allow people to suffer, even if it is not truly your responsibility to end it."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.
"He only speaks the truth, Harry," Salazar interjected. "You are not such a man."
"Bloody goblins," Harry muttered. "Why can't they just be happy living in their damned caves?"
He stormed irritably from the room, and heard the laughter of both men, knowing they were right.
Despite his wish not to involve himself, it was not something Harry would be able to ignore, even if he wanted to.
(Break)
They continued to circle one another, cutting a wide berth in the centre of the battlefield.
None seemingly wanted to intervene on what was transpiring between them, something Arthur was grateful for.
Despite his larger stature, Eadwulf had been the recipient of more wounds, and he was bleeding rather profusely from a few of them. Nonetheless, he was not to be deterred, and thought Arthur had received his fair share of cuts and bruises, nor would he.
Eadwulf was undoubtedly stronger than him, and one of the man's blows had almost cleaved through his chest plate, yet it was Arthur getting the better of the exchanges.
Excalibur was proving to be an exceptional blade indeed, and Eadwulf eyed it warily as he lunged forward, only for his own sword to cut through nothing but air as Arthur stepped nimbly from his path.
Eadwulf hissed as he received another deep cut to his shoulder, and his grip noticeably slackened.
Still, he swung again, and Arthur parried the blow, wincing at the force that shot up his own arm.
Despite this, he knew the fight was all but over. He grew only stronger as Eadwulf began to wane, and as he brought Excalibur to bear once more, he struck three times, and two of the blows landed, bringing his foe to his knees, bereft of his sword.
"Yield," Arthur commanded, placing the tip of his sword at Eadwulf's throat.
The opposing king chuckled humourlessly as he shook his head.
"I thought that I might die here," he sighed before spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. "I prepared for it, and I accept it, but they say that you are a man of honour. I give my life and kingdom in exchange for a favour."
Arthur frowned but nodded for the man to proceed.
"I have three daughters. I would see that they are cared for along with my wife."
"You need not give your life for me to agree to that."
Eadwulf grunted.
"So you can mock and ridicule me until my dying day?"
Arthur shook his head.
"What do I have to gain from that?" he asked. "I would sooner see you concede your throne to me and lead your men against Guthrum. You have heard what he has done."
"I have."
"Then you should wish to protect your people from what he has created."
"I attempted to kidnap your wife."
"And you failed in that, just as you did here today," Arthur pointed out. "We are foes only because we wish for the same thing. You will not have it, but that does not mean you must die, or that your people need feel the loss. I would not take them from their homes. They need only swear fealty to me, as you will."
Eadwulf frowned as he eyed Arthur.
"You are not like others. If any other would-be king was in your place, they would parade my head across the battlefield."
Arthur nodded.
"For me to succeed, I must be different. My enemies will fear me, but I want the people to see me as a compassionate man, and one who will care for them all. Is that such a bad thing?"
Eadwulf shook his head.
"No, it is rather admirable," he murmured. "What will my life be now?"
"I will give you suitable land and protection where you can live out the rest of your days with your wife. You will not be allowed to have an army of your own, and you will pay the same taxes as any other. It will not be as lavish as you are accustomed to, but you will live well enough. If you do not agree or you attempt to usurp me, I will not only take your head, but those of all you love first, and you will watch me do so."
Eadwulf chuckled.
"So, he doesn't only bark," he mused aloud. "Kindness will only get you so far, but words of such effect, if proven true, will get you the compliance you seek. I agree to your terms, King Arthur."
"Then stand and let us put an end to this before more unnecessary blood is spilled."
(Break)
"Is it true what they are saying, my lord? Is Potter truly dead?"
The Dark Lord frowned as his gaze shifted towards Bellatrix.
"He is not."
"But they had a funeral for him. They say they buried him between his parents."
Lord Voldemort snorted as he shook his head.
"Perhaps they all truly believe he is, but I do not, Bella. Harry Potter is very much alive and will remain so until I kill him."
"But…"
"CRUCIO!"
The woman collapsed to the floor, and the Dark Lord relented a moment later, leaving her twitching in discomfort.
"Do not question me, Bella," Voldemort warned. "If I say that Potter is alive, then he is very much alive."
Bellatrix nodded as she struggled to her feet, her legs trembling from the effects of the curse.
Physically, she had recovered well from her stint in Azkaban, but her mental capacity was in question. She'd always been quite the fanatic with a lack of morals, but now it seemed she lacked any humanity at all.
She lusted only for blood, power, the suffering of others, and seemingly, the Dark Lord's flesh. Even now she stared at him with undisguised lust, despite the suffering he inflicted upon her.
Oddly, she seemed to enjoy such treatment.
Her mind truly was twisted, but it would inevitably prove to be useful in the war yet to come when Potter decided to stop hiding from him.
"Will you be retrieving the prophecy, my lord?"
Voldemort nodded.
"Soon," he assured the woman. "It must be retrieved soon."
Harry no longer woke in a cold sweat from his time in Riddle's mind, nor did he feel the fear that had once plagued him as a child.
He was a man now, a warrior; something the Dark Lord would not expect to face when the moment they met would come to pass.
It brought a smirk to Harry's lips despite the frustration he felt at once more enduring another vision.
Voldemort would not be ready to face him.
The man had spent the years of his first rise killing those incapable of inflicting harm upon him, and Dumbledore, who did not possess the ability to kill his former student.
No, Albus had proven to be rather gutless when it came to Riddle, and the man had never had any reason to fear any other.
That would one day change.
Harry would ensure Riddle feared him, would ensure the man suffered all he deserved before having buried amongst his muggle family as a final insult to the Dark Lord.
His smirk turned into a grin, though he frowned as he noticed the absence of his wife.
Morgana had been gone for a number of days now, watching Guthrum closely as he'd made his way to East Anglia whilst Harry had been preparing for the impending confrontation with the dead.
It would only be a matter of days before it happened, and although he felt ready for it, he expected the battle would be like no other, not even the one against Cnut and his dragon.
By now, he expected that Arthur would've either dispatched Eadwulf or be on the cusp of doing so.
Neither would relish a war of attrition, not when it would only serve to leave them weak in the face of Guthrum when he returned.
"He's making his way back now, isn't he?" he asked as Morgana entered the front door to their home in Godric's Hollow.
She nodded.
"He is moving quickly and will arrive in only a few days at his current pace."
"Then we had best make our final preparations," Harry urged as he stood.
"We will," Morgana assured him, "but I have been without my husband for too long. You will see to my needs before anything else."
Not that Harry would offer any protest, but Morgana gave him no opportunity to as she climbed into his lap to claim what was rightfully hers.
(Break)
Myrddin looked on as Arthur gestured for Eadwulf to step forward.
Although there was tension within the room from all the men who had been battling one another only mere hours before, they had coexisted well enough to separate and begin burying the dead.
Most here were Christian men, but Cnut was personally seeing to the Danes remains.
Eadwulf nodded as he stood and hobbled towards the conqueror.
His wounds were indeed numerous, and though Arthur sported more than a few of his own, he stood strong in victory.
"We discussed our terms," Arthur declared. "You lost the battle, but you and your men fought valiantly, and for that, all of your dignities shall be preserved. For your part, Eadwulf, you asked that I spare your wife and daughters, and they shall be. You are to be granted suitable land to live out the rest of your life, and those who wish to continuing serving the crown are welcome to do so as my own men. You will all be fed, cared for, and treated as though you were my own from the very beginning. That is my vow to you. All that must happen is that your crown is conceded to me."
Eadwulf nodded defeatedly and struggled as he took a knee in front of Arthur.
"I hereby concede my crown to King Arthur Pendragon and agree to terms put forward."
Myrddin watched as the man removed his crown, and he beamed proudly.
Arthur was indeed proving himself to be a just and virtuous king; everything Britain needed now and in the future.
Offering his hand, Arthur helped Eadwulf to his feet and the two exchanged a few words unheard by the rest of those gathered.
They would never be friends, but so long as they could cooperate, this part of the country could prosper as well as any other, though the peace here would be short-lived.
In only a matter of days, Guthrum would arrive from East Anglia, and this time, there was nothing to deter him from unleashing his dead and his army upon every man, woman, and child here.
(Break)
Rowena looked thoroughly pleased with herself and Harry frowned at the woman.
"If you already knew the answer, why did you make me come up with a theory?"
"For two reasons," the woman said smugly. "Firstly, I wanted to see if my teaching has been useful for you, and it seems that it has."
"And the second reason?"
Rowena's smile fell and she took Harry by the hand.
"I wanted you to see how brilliant you are for yourself," she answered sincerely. "You took what was in front of you, studied it, and came to the very same conclusion I did. You even did it faster."
"Only because all the work was already done."
Rowena shook her head.
"I may have come up with the original theory, but I had the exact same equations in front of me when I finally figured it out. I needed you to see that you are much keener than you believed yourself to be."
Harry could only shake his head in exasperation.
"That doesn't mean I am as good as you," he pointed out.
"I never said you were, Harry," Rowena replied with a grin, "but, you still do not give yourself enough credit. Through our teachings here, and your dedication, you have become an exceptional wizard. I expect that when you have time to truly explore magic as I have, you will become just as brilliant in your own way."
Harry gave her hand a squeeze.
"Has anyone ever told you that it's annoying when you're always right?"
"Oh, Godric and Salazar used to say that to me several times a day when we first built this place," Rowena said dismissively. "It's nothing new."
"Well, it is annoying," Harry grumbled fondly, frowning and releasing a deep breath.
"What is it?"
"Guthrum is approaching Eadwulf's keep and will arrive shortly."
Rowena nodded her understanding as Harry stood, but she took his hand once more.
"This is not where it ends for you, Harry. I have come to know the stars well enough to see that you have a long life ahead of you. There will be twists and turns along your path, but it will not end so soon."
"You're certain of that?"
"I have never been more certain of anything. When you're so close to death, you become rather adept at seeing life, and yours is only just beginning."
Harry nodded appreciatively and placed a kiss on the woman's cheek.
"I will be back," he promised as he sent a reply to Morgana, letting her know he would arrive shortly.
"And I will still be here when you do."
Harry met her gaze to see the truth of her words, and he smiled.
"I know," he replied.
He did.
Despite how close to perishing she might be, her times was not quite upon them, and Harry left her rooms knowing that he would indeed see her again.
(Break)
"Arthur will be pleased to see you," Guinevere said, visibly sagging in relief as she caught sight of Morgana approaching her on the battlements.
"And I expect you would be relieved if your husband was killed and you could abscond with your lover."
Guinevere frowned but did not comment.
"I can find my own way," Morgana assured her, quickening her pace to be away from the woman.
She could not understand infidelity.
There was not a man alive that could turn her attention away from Harry, and Arthur, if nothing else, was the muggle personification of what Harry was in the wizarding world.
Guinevere was a damned fool, and Morgana would not associate with such.
"Ah, you're here. And Harry?" Arthur asked nervously.
Morgana peered across the field beyond the keep.
Guthrum was already lurking in the trees, biding his time before he would inevitably attack.
"Coming," Morgana answered, stepping beyond the king to stand next to Myrddin a short distance away.
The man eyed her with distaste, and a ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips.
"If you even think of making an attempt on my husband's life whilst he is helping Arthur, I will pull the guts of your king through his fucking nose," she promised. "I will end his reign before it has truly begun. Harry may like him and not wish him harm, but I am not my husband, Myrddin. If I were you, I would not even look at my Harry. Understood?"
Myrddin stared at her speculatively for a moment before nodding.
"You truly are a repugnant woman," he murmured.
Morgana giggled at the assessment.
"Myrddin, you have no idea the lengths I would go to for him. If anything, you should be thankful. Harry curbs the more unpleasant urges that plague me. If it wasn't for him, I would be a scourge on this land, but he gives me purpose beyond the misery of the likes of you and your lickspittles. Still, it is best you do not push me. The control I somehow keep might just slip."
Still, Myrddin said nothing, and as Harry arrived a moment later, he did not even deign the man with a glance.
"Making friends?" he asked amusedly.
Morgana nodded.
"Only very temporarily. When Guthrum and those witches are dead, we will no longer be a part of any of this. If Myrddin is smart enough, he will ensure it stays that way."
"He will," Harry agreed, his burning gaze flickering towards the older man. "But that remains to be seen."